Rights
by Onesimus42
Summary: Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes discuss the rights of friends. Spoilers for Series 3, episode 1 & 2. Minor spoiler for speculation episode 3
1. Rights

_**Based on speculation regarding Series 3 Episode 3. Spoilers of course. Don't read if you don't want that.**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, Mrs. Hughes brilliant storyline would have included a bed in a small inn on the coast and a certain stuffy butler. The only lumps would be the ones in her pillow. **_

Mr. Carson had brought his plan to fruition with ease. A part of him would have preferred to remain ignorant, but a much larger part of him needed desperately to know what was wrong with his housekeeper. At times it was incredibly annoying how stupid everyone apparently thought he was. How on earth did they think he'd ever become butler? Poisoning old Jerkyns? At other times, he found it incredibly useful. This instance had been one of those times. He shook his head at how easily Mrs. Patmore had fallen for his ruse. He'd merely had to pretend that he already knew everything, even more than she did, and she'd broken down and revealed the whole secret. Poor woman. She was worried sick about Mrs. Hughes and grateful for someone to share her burden. He would gladly take the burden of worrying about his housekeeper completely away from the cook.

Now, though, he was facing a slightly more difficult task. Somehow, he needed his housekeeper to allow him to help her. To that end, he had already spoken with Lady Grantham about shifting a few of her tasks subtly to him. She had been puzzled, but nevertheless had agreed. Now all he had to do was wait for the storm. Pulling his watch from his pocket, he glanced at the time. She should be here within the next quarter hour at least. He wound his watch carefully, and then settled back with hands tented in front of him, elbows resting on the arms of his chair, and eyes closed to wait for her to arrive.

The door burst open, and he sat up quickly. Plucking his watch from the table, he glanced at the time. Sixteen minutes. She was getting slower. He hoped that wasn't a bad sign.

"Mr. Carson," she was speaking in her quietest and most controlled voice, a voice that normally had him quaking inside, but now secretly gave him hope.

He rose so that he could use his height to his advantage, "You wish to speak to me, Mrs. Hughes?"

"I do," she said and his attention was drawn to her face, the faint shadows under her eyes, the tightness around her mouth that he doubted was due entirely to her anger. Perhaps he was as stupid as everyone thought to have missed those signs for so long.

He lifted an eyebrow at her, "Would you like to stand as you berate me or will you at least sit?"

Her mouth had already been open no doubt ready to scold him, but she shut it quickly. He had thrown her off balance. Good. He needed every advantage to achieve his goal.

"I will sit if you wish," she nodded sharply. He didn't miss how grateful she seemed to be to sink down into the chair.

"Would you care for some water or a little tea?" he asked, walking to the side table to pour himself a glass of water.

She narrowed her eyes at him, obviously wondering what he was about. "No. I would prefer to say what I have to say."

"Then please do so, Mrs. Hughes," he spoke softly before settling down in the chair facing her with his hand on his knee. He fixed his gaze on her face to watch for the perfect opportunity.

"You spied on me," she stated flatly.

"I did," he admitted, again bringing her up short.

She paused for a moment, and he could see that his plan was going to work, maybe. "You had no right."

"I did not," he agreed.

Her mouth dropped open, and she watched him with a puzzled frown. After a moment, she swallowed, "May I have a glass of water now, please?"

"Certainly," he stood and crossed to the table. When he handed her the glass of water, he stretched out his finger to brush the back of her knuckles. Her hand jumped, but she didn't spill a drop of the water. Seeing that she had herself under control again, he settled back down in the chair.

"Why then?" she asked softly, eyes fixed on the glass in her hands.

This moment was the key one. He gathered his courage and looked at her steadily, willing her to meet his eyes. She did not so he spoke his words to the top of her head, "The person that I hold most dear in the world is in pain. I needed to know why."

Her eyes squeezed shut and he could hear the waver of her voice, "Oh Charles, why now? Why not…"

He cut her off, "Why not twenty years ago, or ten, or five, or even one? I don't have a proper answer. All I know is that I cannot let you face this alone."

"So you butt in, insert yourself in my life?" she asked; temper showing again, "What if I want to face this alone?"

"That is your right, I suppose," he answered quietly, "But I would still suffer."

"Charles," she began, "I didn't want you to…."

His own temper flared now, "Do you think I am a child, Elsie?"

"No, I…" she said, meeting his eyes again.

He cut her off with a wave of his hand, "Because I can assure you that I am most certainly a man, fully capable of taking care of those he lo…cares for deeply."

"I know that you are a man, Charles," she said, "But it is still my burden to carry. You have no right."

"I know that I have no right," he nearly whispered, eyes dropping from hers to study the floor.

She sighed, "Then if I promise to keep you informed will you…"

The decision that he had been making all day solidified in his mind, and he looked up from the floor to meet her eyes. His resolve must have shown because her words trailed off. When she was looking into his eyes in wonder he spoke, "I want that right," and then to clarify he added with his chin jutting out, "I am asking for that right."

She looked at him carefully again, eyes questioning his statement. He met her inquiring look with what he hoped was the clear answer of his commitment.

"Because I am ill?" she asked.

"We don't know that yet. The results aren't back," he said, already appropriating her burden as his own.

Her lip quirked up in a half smile, "That's not what you told Mrs. Patmore."

"Yes, well," he stumbled a little, slightly embarrassed by his deception, "That was necessary."

"Necessary to deceive one of your oldest and dearest friends?" she asked, eyebrow lifted.

He met her eyes again solemnly, "Not my dearest friend, Elsie. There is only one person who I have ever considered that."

Her eyes dropped from his, and she shook her head. He could tell that she was deciding to come at the problem from a different angle. That was good. Every angle had been examined in the minutest detail over the past few hours, and he had come to his conclusion. He was nothing if not thorough and orderly in his thoughts.

"Friendship is not a proper basis for such a commitment," she said so softly he could almost imagine he had not heard her.

"I disagree," he said, feeling more and more that he was on firmer footing. She was considering the possibility. That was half the battle won as far as he was concerned. "To be friends, partners even, seems the very best basis for a permanent commitment."

"But what about," she paused, and he did not jump in but allowed her the time to be comfortable with the word, "love."

And there it was. The one word that had occupied most of his thoughts this afternoon. If he was truthful with himself, it had occupied his thoughts since their argument of a few weeks ago when he'd begun to be suspicious, perhaps even longer than that.

"Yes, what about love?" he whispered hoarsely, "If I loved you I suppose my heart would be tearing in two at the thought of your suffering for even one moment. If I loved you I would likely be barely able to breathe at the thought of losing you. If I loved you I would want you for my wife no matter the risk, and I would be willing to risk losing the regard of my dearest friend for the right to stay with you to the very end, either for you or for me."

"I see," she said, swallowing hard and eyes still locked with his. "You are a very stubborn man."

"Very," and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. They had been sitting opposite each other in the chairs, and he suddenly realized that the separation might not be appropriate for the answer he had begun to feel was possible. He dropped to one knee by her chair and let his hand rest on the arm beside her elbow. S he released her clenched hands and dropped one to brush her fingertips over his knuckles.

"You will make life very difficult," she said, smile tugging at her mouth as well.

"Very," he agreed and turned his hand over to grasp her fingers.

"And very interesting."

"Very," he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her cheek.

"And very exciting," she whispered before turning her head to press her lips to his.

"Very," he nodded and pressed his lips a little harder to hers, opening his mouth so that he could trace her lips with the tip of his tongue.

"I must see the doctor tomorrow to get my results," she said, pulling away slightly.

"I will come with you," his hand clasping hers tighter.

She nodded and squeezed his hand in return, "You would have that right."

_**Reviews are welcome as always. So is a happy ending for Charles & Elsie on the show if JF happens to read this fic.**_


	2. Distractions

_**I wanted to continue this story. Probably AU, but I wanted to publish this chapter prior to the upcoming episode.**_

**_Disclaimer: I own nothing from them and earn nothing but sleepless nights._**

There was a sharp tap on her door, and Elsie looked up from the page she hadn't been reading for the past half hour. It was Charles, not Mr. Carson, not when they were alone. That would take some time to seem natural. He leaned in and asked, "Would you like to walk down to the village, or would you prefer that I try to work out transport with the car?"

"You'll allow me to walk?" she asked with uplifted brows.

He grimaced at her, "I thought the point of our disagreement last night was that I was not to treat you like a bit of spun glass."

She smiled. Calling what had occurred last night a disagreement was like calling the ocean a puddle. Hopefully he understood how she felt now, however. "It is a pleasant day. I think that I would prefer to walk," she answered hoping that the time necessary to make their way to the village would help her to compose herself, "But surely it's too early yet."

He cleared his throat, "There was another errand I hoped to accomplish if you wouldn't mind leaving now. If you need to keep working..."

"No," she cut him off, "I haven't gotten any work done all morning. If you wish, we would do just as well to leave now."

Once they were on the path to the village, her arm securely tucked in Charles's elbow, she took a moment to enjoy their new status. The silent, steady strength he lent her was comforting. Even though she would rather have spared him this hurt, she was grateful that he would be at her side.

She glanced up at him to see that he was staring at his shoes with a deep furrow between his brows. Her heart clenched. Perhaps he was having second thoughts, although knowing him they were third or fourth thoughts at least.

He must have felt her eyes on him because he turned his head and met her gaze.

He took a deep breath and spoke solemnly, "I snore."

That was so far removed from what she had been expecting to hear that she almost thought she was having delusions. "Beg pardon?"

"I am not entirely sure because obviously I am asleep while it is occurring, but Thomas has hinted many times. I am afraid that I snore," his face still bore a worried frown.

"Seeing that your bedroom and mine share a wall, I can assure that you do indeed snore, but I fail to see why that worries you now," she still stared at him in puzzlement.

His mouth dropped open. He had obviously never thought about how close her bedroom was to his. "Why did you never tell me before this?"

"I obviously didn't think it was of great consequence," she explained, patience starting to wear thin.

"I don't suppose it was before," he conceded, "but now, do you think you'll be able to sleep if we're sharing a be..that is, if we were closer?"

She stopped short and blinked twice at him before starting to laugh. He initially looked irritated but then started to chuckle himself.

She wiped the tears from her eyes and then said between bursts of chuckles and laughter, "We are on our way to find out what this thing is inside me and that is what you're worried about?"

"You make it sound silly," he grumbled, but smilingly.

She smiled back, grateful to him for the first genuine laugh she'd had in weeks, "Perhaps because it is silly, Charles Carson."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off, "I have listened to your snores for years. The truth is, I have trouble sleeping during the Season. It's far too quiet."

He smiled gratefully and offered his arm again, "If you are sure that I won't deafen you then I suppose we will do well."

They started back down the path, and after a few more steps she said, "I have cold feet."

"Elsie, I'm willing to wait if you're not sure, but I thought after last night that you were," he spoke hoarsely and his eyebrows were drawn down again.

"No," she replied quickly, realizing he'd misunderstood, "I am sure. Quite sure. What I meant was that my feet are like ice at night. My sister always complained about it."

"Oh,that will be difficult," he said in an obviously relieved voice, and she looked up sharply to see the crinkle of a smile at the corner of his eye, "I suppose I could try to keep them warm. Would you mind terribly if I brought a hot water bottle to bed?"

"Not at all," she smiled at the thought of pressing her cold feet against his warm ones so that they could share the warmth from a single bottle.

"I am particular about where things are," he began again, "Disorder is disturbing to me."

She stared at him in disbelief. Did he think this was some type of revelation? "Really. I would never have known."

He rolled his eyes at her and chuckled softly before bending down to whisper close to her ear, "I have been known to get up in the middle of the night to straighten the books on my shelf."

She nodded thoughtfully. That was certainly not surprising. "I dry my stockings on the radiator."

He stumbled over a root, "Your stockings? They would be on our radiator?"

"Does that bother you very much?" she asked with her bottom lip between her teeth.

He spoke carefully, "Nooo, not exactly. I was just imagining coming into our room and seeing your stockings. It would be..."

"Disturbing?" she suggested.

He shook his head, and she watched a blush spread over his cheeks, "No, it would be a reminder that I have a wife who shares my room and my bed. I think it would be a bit exciting."

She snorted, "I've never thought of my stockings as being exciting."

He smiled, "They wouldn't normally be when they're on their own, but when I imagine you wearing them..."

She felt her own cheeks heat when she saw the look in his eyes. Admonishing him gently, she said, "Charles, I'm under no illusions as to my appeal. I've never been a vain woman. I know that I am not the most attractive of women, and soon I'll be even less so." She finished somberly as she thought of the impending surgery and what might come after.

They were approaching the village by this time, but Charles steered them down a side path and turned her so she faced him.

Her breath caught when she met his earnest gaze. When he spoke it was in a firm but gentle tone, "Elsie, I'll not lie. A large part of your appeal is the simple fact that you are not at all a vain woman. You are the least selfish woman that I have ever met."

That was a very nice sentiment, but she couldn't help feeling slightly disappointed. A small part of her wanted to attract Charles's physical attention as well. Silly as it was, she wanted him to want her.

He continued without allowing her to speak, "However, I have always found you attractive. A surgery, even an extensive one, will not change that. Besides, I've always preferred your...," he trailed off, perhaps thinking he'd revealed too much but then continued when she lifted her eyebrow at him in question, "That is, I rather enjoy seeing you walk away from me, especially when you're angry."

"When I'm angry?" she asked, genuinely confused now.

He nodded, cheeks flaming now, "You sway more."

"Oh, I never," she said, mind now drifting over all the disagreements they'd had over the years. Had he made her angry on purpose at times? She couldn't help teasing him just a bit, "Was it love at first sight?"

"I believe that would be better categorized as lust," he said, responding to her teasing with relief, "but no, it was after we spoke. You probably don't remember. I came upon you reaching for a box from a high shelf that you couldn't quite reach." He smiled at the memory, "You presented a fine figure. I reached over you for the box."

"And I said, 'isn't that beneath your dignity?'" He wasn't the only one who remembered, although her memory centered on the firm body stretched behind her. She let her hands rest on his chest, feeling the firm beat of his heart beneath.

"And I told you that the problem seemed to be the box was above us both," he whispered, drawing her closer, "You laughed, and I was captured."

He bent forward and brushed his lips lightly over hers before pressing his tongue against her lips. She responded with eagerness. Who would have ever thought that kissing her butler could fill her with so much pleasure?

After kissing her lips thoroughly, he moved to trail kisses along her jaw and down her neck. Whispering against the moist skin there, he asked, "Do you think we will be able to stand each other?"

She nodded, "We are friends, and I believe I will be able to tolerate your snoring and obsessive tidiness if you will be able to tolerate my cold feet and drying stockings."

"I think that I will welcome your cold feet to my bed as long as the rest of you comes with them," he said and leaned back to catch her cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb over her lips.

She raised herself on her toes, and he bent slightly forward to meet her halfway. They kissed slowly and tenderly, enjoying this new intimacy again.

When she was finished, she rocked back on her heels and asked, "Didn't you have an errand to run?"

"Hmmm, yes," he said, a slightly dazed expression to his eyes, "Have I accomplished it?"

"Your errand was to kiss me?" she asked, surprised.

He smiled, "That would be a worthy errand, but no, my errand was to distract you until time."

"Dear, sweet man," she whispered, threading her arm through his once more.

He snorted and patted her hand on his arm, "We'll see if you still think that when I snore."

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	3. Consultation

_**I realize that this is obviously AU after Sunday's episode (Thank Goodness!), but I wanted to write this scene anyway. Batwings was kind enough to read it and suggested just one more chapter. We'll see if I can stick to that.**_

_**Disclaimer: Not mine and never will be. **_

Charles sat stiffly on the settle outside Dr. Clarkson's office. He realized after a moment that he was nervously drumming his fingers on his knee and stilled his hand by gripping his leg tightly. The reason he was here was to provide comfort and support to Elsie. He certainly didn't need to add to her distress. Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, his eyes drifted down to the hands that were gripping her handbag as though it contained the Crown Jewels. Tentatively so that he didn't surprise her, he stretched out his hand to cover one of hers. Her hand released the handbag instantly, and she turned her palm up to lace her fingers through his. She gave him a sad smile and drew a ragged breath.

When the nurse opened the door and beckoned Elsie inside, he stood to follow her, but the nurse moved to stop him. He looked at Elsie in distress. Surely she didn't want to face this alone. Elsie put her hand on the nurse's arm, "I would like him with me. We should hear this news together."

Charles followed her gratefully through the door that shut heavily behind them, and they walked down the short corridor to the doctor's consulting room. He couldn't shake the feeling that it was like a death march. A tiny part of him almost wished he was back at the house waiting for the news there, but the largest part of him, made up almost entirely of his heart, knew that he needed to be here for Elsie. Supporting her was his most important duty now and, if he had his way, for the rest of his life.

When they entered the doctor's office, the nurse left them while she went to fetch Dr. Clarkson. Glancing around the room, he detached himself from the situation by analyzing it. What message did it send? What style was there? The coldly impersonal room was dominated by a large desk. There was a single chair on one side and two on the other. No doubt the doctor would sit at the desk, separated from his patients by a vast expanse of wood and papers. The two chairs facing the desk were all wrong. They should be as close as possible so that the patient's companion could offer all the support necessary. He stepped forward to adjust the chairs for just that purpose, but Elsie stopped him with a hand on his arm and a small shake of her head. She was right, of course, he had no right to rearrange the doctor's office, but he did wish to have a talk with him about the message he was sending.

Elsie sat down in one of the chairs, but he was unwilling to separate from her by sitting so far away in the other. Standing behind her, he let his hand rest on her shoulder with his forefinger stretched along her collarbone and thumb kneading the knotted muscles of her neck. She reached up as though to cover his hand with her own but let it drop back to her lap when the doctor entered. He glanced down to see that she had renewed her grip on her handbag.

Dr. Clarkson's step paused for a moment when his eyes met Charles's but to his credit, he didn't blurt out his surprise.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Hughes," he said, "and Mr. Carson."

Charles impatiently offered his own greeting through clenched teeth while trying to maintain the appropriate decorum. He wished the man would just tell them whether Elsie was going to live or not. Pleasantries could be exchanged later.

Almost as though he could sense Charles's thoughts, Dr. Clarkson directed a kind smile at Elsie and said, "Mrs. Hughes, it appears that your cyst is benign."

A great weight lifted off his heart. He felt like laughing in relief but he wanted to be very sure. "Benign; that means that it's definitely not cancer?"

Dr. Clarkson's eyes flitted away just for a second, and the fist closed around Charles's heart again. He held his hand as steady as a rock, not wanting to transfer any of his concern to Elsie through his touch.

Again, the doctor looked to Elsie with a question in his eyes, and Elsie answered after clearing her throat and swallowing quickly, "Mr. Carson has every right to ask, Doctor. I've invited him here."

"The fluid which we removed showed no signs of malignancy, but…" Charles's heart seized at the pause and then the doctor continued, "I discussed your case with my colleague in London, and he recommended that we do a biopsy of the tumor to be absolutely sure of our diagnosis."

Elsie licked her lips and spoke in a harsh whisper, "Tumor. I have only felt one lump. I thought you said it was a cyst."

Charles's mind was racing over the possibility of multiple growths and what that might mean when Dr. Clarkson held up his hands to calm them both.

"I'm terribly sorry. There is only one growth. To me any abnormal growth is a tumor. It is filled with fluid and therefore is a cyst. Please forgive me. I have no wish to cause you any further worry."

Charles grimaced at the doctor but restrained himself from suggesting that the man think before he worry a lady like that again. He felt Elsie's shoulder relax under his hand and was glad. When he thought he could speak in something approaching a normal tone, he stated the facts as he understood them, "You have removed fluid from the growth on Mrs. Hughes's, um, ah, _chest"_; seizing on an appropriate word with relief. "That fluid shows no sign of cancer, but it does not mean with certainty that this _cyst," _he looked to Dr. Clarkson who approved of his choice of words with a nod, "is not cancer and thus you'd like do a biopsy."

Dr. Clarkson nodded, "That is correct, Mr. Carson. Unfortunately, no surgery is without risks."

Charles and Elsie spoke in surprised unison, "Surgery?"

Elsie glanced up at him and he clamped his mouth shut so that she could speak, "I thought you said you would need to biopsy the cyst, not surgery."

"A biopsy would involve surgery Mrs. Hughes," Dr. Clarkson spoke patiently and kindly, "We would need to remove the entire cyst. You will be asleep for the procedure. The pain would be relatively minimal. It would not be an extensive surgery."

Charles couldn't hold his next question back, "And if it were cancer?"

"If it were cancer," the doctor said, meeting his eyes steadily, "Then the surgery to treat it would be more extensive."

Elsie patted his hand on her shoulder, "We'll not borrow trouble. Let us deal with this one day at a time. First we need to decide whether to do the biopsy or not."

Charles hated that Elsie felt the need to comfort him but was confused by her indecision. "Why on earth would you not want to do the biopsy? Don't you want to be sure?"

"It would be surgery, Charles," she hissed, "and on my body."

The doctor broke in and Charles nearly wanted to leap over the desk at his intrusion, "Mrs. Hughes is right, Mr. Carson. No surgery is without risk. I would advise you, both of you, to think carefully about this and to discuss it. There's no great hurry. You can give me your decision within the next week."

Charles clenched his jaw to bite back the retort he had for the doctor and the argument he had for Elsie. He merely nodded shortly. The doctor's eyes travelled from Elsie back to him and after a pause said, "I don't have any other appointments for the day, and I need to check on one or two patients at the hospital. Feel free to remain here for a few moments to gather your thoughts before you leave. No one will disturb you."

"Thank you, Dr. Clarkson," Elsie nodded with a distracted smile, "And thank you for explaining the situation so carefully."

Charles didn't know if he would have gone quite that far in his appreciation. He thought the doctor should have been much more forceful in his recommendation of the biopsy. Giving the doctor a curt nod, he voiced his thanks as well, however.

Dr. Clarkson accepted their thanks with a slight inclination of his head and started toward the door. He paused just before reaching it and said, "Mrs. Hughes, may I add that I am glad that you have someone to share this burden. No one should have to go through something like this alone."

As soon as the door shut, Elsie twisted in her chair to look up at him, "Charles, would you please sit? I'll strain my neck looking up at you."

He sank down gratefully in the other chair but shifted it so that he could easily reach Elsie's hand, "I'm sorry. I just wanted to be near you while the doctor gave us the news."

"And I thank you for that," she said with a small nod, "You're like a great guardian angel behind me or maybe a giant mastiff."

"An angel or a dog," he stated flatly, attempting humor, "It's nice to know you have such a clear understanding of who I am."

"Charles," she said softly, holding his gaze with hers, "I have always known who you are. You are my dearest friend."

"Thank you for that," he smiled into her eyes and leaned forward to take her hand. Growing serious again, he said, "I don't understand why you don't want to be certain that this, this thing in your," he hesitated over the word and waved vaguely in her direction with his free hand, "chest is not ca…," a lump rose in his throat at the word, "that it is benign."

She looked at him squarely, "My breast, Charles. This thing, this growth, this tumor, this cyst is in my breast. Not my chest, my breast."

His cheeks tinted faintly, and he looked away, "I know where it is Elsie. I just didn't feel that it was proper to…"

He broke off when he saw that she had lifted her hands to undo her coat and her scarf. What was she doing? Then it dawned on him, and he nearly leapt from his seat. "Elsie, I hardly think that this is the proper time or place for…"

"Sit down," she commanded, and he sat as quick as a footman caught in a bit of mischief, "If you are to help me decide how to deal with this, you should know it."

When the first few buttons of her dress were undone, she took his hand and guided it to her right breast. He felt the soft skin and then the hard, unyielding lump. Outlining its edges with the tips of his fingers, he closed his eyes to memorize the size and shape so that he could judge later if it had grown or changed in any way.

She spoke in a hoarse whisper, "I don't think it's grown. I check it every night before I go to sleep, if I go to sleep."

He opened his eyes to look at her. No wonder she looked tired. He made a mental note to call tomorrow and ask the doctor for a sleeping draught.

He leaned forward to let his forehead rest against hers. "You must let me take some of the worry for you. I'll check it if you like."

She snorted, "That's a likely line! You must think me a silly kitchen maid if you think I'll fall for that old trick."

"It was worth a try," he teased and laughed with her. After a moment, he realized that he was still cupping her breast, and his body responded. Pulling his hand away abruptly, he leaned back and turned away from her, creating as much space as possible between them.

He closed his eyes and tried cataloguing the wine cellar in his mind to force his problem to go away. When he could allow his mind to drift to Elsie again, he could hear a hitch in her breathing, "Elsie?"

"I'm sorry to disgust you," she said, "I'll understand if you want to return to just being colleagues and nothing more."

"What?" he swung back to face her, "Why would I want that?"

"I understand, Charles," she said, mouth set in a grim line as she tied her scarf, "If I have this surgery, I'll never be a whole woman again. No man would want someone who wasn't whole."

"Don't be silly!" he exclaimed, and then moderated his tones, "Elsie, the reason I turned away is that I couldn't help but respond to touching you. Now is not the time or place for such a response. I'm embarrassed that I have so little control over my body."

She looked at him in obvious relief and then her eyes darted down to his lap. He was gratified to see her cheeks tinting faintly as she came to understand what he had meant.

"I see," she whispered, "Thank you for telling me."

He brushed the back of his knuckles down her cheek, "I will never find you unattractive." Leaning forward, he caught her lips with his and tried to communicate his feelings to her through their touch. She responded by leaning toward him, and he shifted forward in his chair so that he could pull her closer.

After the briefest of embraces, she pulled away and said, "We really should leave. If you have no self-control, I suppose I must take responsibility. This isn't the place for this."

When he looked at her in disappointment, she said, "I only want to find a proper place. My parlor would do nicely."

Rising to his feet quickly, he pushed his chair back into place and held his hand out to help her rise, "If we take the shortcut, we can be there in ten minutes."

She laughed but took his hand, and they walked determinedly out of the doctor's office.

_**Reviews are welcome as always. **_


	4. Claiming rights

_**AU now, but I am enjoying exploring what might have happened. This chapter is a bit melodramatic, but I doubt I could out do JF on that score.**_

_**Disclaimer: Not mine. I earn nothing from them and am thankful for the people who created them so that I could steal them shamelessly.**_

Elsie smoothed her dress down again before rising to check the temperature of the teapot under the cozy one more time. She shifted the biscuits on the plate and changed their arrangement slightly, deciding that it was more pleasing to alternate the chocolate and the light rather than having all of the same kind together. Then she hesitated again, perhaps she should have the tray on the side table and not on the table beside the settee. He might want to talk, or something else. She would prefer a little of the something else. She'd had enough talking to do her for months.

Closing her eyes, she clenched her hands together. This nervousness was silly. He had come to her sitting room hundreds of times. There was nothing to be jittery about. She was more skittish than a new scullery maid. With an inward grimace, she thought it might have something to do with her drawing his hand to her breast. What on earth had she been thinking? At the time, she'd been annoyed at how pointedly everyone, especially Charles, avoided calling this thing what it was; a lump in her breast. The thought of the reaction that he'd had to her and that she'd had to him made more than just her cheeks heat. She reminded herself, however, that he had reacted to her first. Calmer now, she moved the tray to the side table only to jump slightly at the sharp double rap on her door before it eased open, and he peeked around the edge. Turning, she sighed deeply before giving him a hesitant smile.

"The family has gone to bed," he announced as he entered and shut the door behind him.

She nodded gratefully, "Thank goodness. I thought we'd never have a proper time or place."

"We may not," he said, "but I'm willing to be a little improper tonight."

He stood awkwardly with his arms at his sides, obviously not quite sure what to do. When she recognized his anxiety, her own nerves settled and she stepped closer to him. Putting her hand on his elbow, she smiled up at him. He returned her smile with relief and instantly covered her hand with his own. Lifting her hand, he brushed his lips over her knuckles softly.

"I wish we could have come straight back here after seeing the doctor and never left."

She shook her head ruefully, "It would have been nice, but I suppose continuing to eat means that we must continue to work as well."

Wrapping one arm around her waist, he put his other hand on her cheek, "We won't stay here long. You need to rest."

She stiffened slightly, "I doubt that I'll sleep much. I'd rather be here with you."

"Elsie," he admonished, straightening to his full height, "If we are to be married, I have the right to ask you to go to bed."

She snorted at his choice of words, "If we are married, you have the right to take me to bed, but you do not have that right now."

The shocked expression on his face was worth the embarrassment of uttering such a sentence. She almost laughed until she saw the glint of determination in his eyes. He never liked to be bested in an argument. Bending until his lips were just a breath away from hers, he whispered fiercely, "Do I have this right?"

She had barely nodded before his lips were on hers, caressing, teasing, and demanding. His hand moved from her cheek to the back of her head and tightened while his arm around her waist drew her impossibly closer. When he finally released her lips, she was trembling from excitement and perhaps the tiniest bit of fear. She laughed softly into his chest.

"Was that funny?" he rumbled, still breathless.

"That was anything but funny, Charles Carson," she said, "I just thought that I rather like you exercising your rights."

He chuckled softly, "You need sleep tonight, not exercise. There'll be no more of that for now."

She bristled and pulled back to look at him, "Do I have no rights over you, then?"

"Well, I, um, that is," he blustered, stepping back slightly.

She pushed on his chest firmly with one hand and he stepped back again. She met his gaze steadily, "Do I not have the right to touch you?" She pushed herself up on her toes and pressed her lips to his, "Or kiss you?" By this time, his back was against the door, and she took the opportunity to wrap her arms around his neck, "Or hold you?"

His hands were on her waist to steady her and his eyes were half-closed as he breathed hard, "Elsie, you have all those rights, of course, but you need…"

"What I need, Charles," she said, eyes squeezed shut against the tears that threatened, "is to not feel that I'm two steps away from death or worse."

His lips covered hers again, gently now as he coaxed her lips apart. He pulled back for only a moment to say, "You will not die. Not yet. Not now."

She had no idea how long they stood there with him leaning back against the door and her leaning against him, but when they finished kissing her arms were tired, her cheek was chaffed by the stubble on his chin, and her lips felt bruised from his kisses.

"Thank you," she whispered, cheek resting against the smooth lapel of his jacket.

"You're very welcome," he kissed her forehead softly. After a momentary pause, he asked, "What would be worse?"

"Hmmm?" she pretended not to understand.

She felt his mouth pull down in a frown. Of course he wasn't fooled. "You said 'or worse'. What would be worse than death?"

She hesitated. Did she want to tell him? It was still a possible outcome of this mess, if she had the biopsy.

"Elsie?"

She took a deep breath and the words came quickly, not rushed exactly, but she wanted to get them out of her mind and into the air between them as fast as possible. "Have you seen anyone who has had cancer? Probably not, I'm sure. They're hidden away. It's not discussed. It's a female thing. They take off a woman's whole breast. And even the muscle underneath. The mother of the lady at Holbrook House had the surgery. She lived, but she could barely lift her arms. She was always in pain, and she never went out in company. She was so altered that she wanted no one to see her."

He shuddered and pulled her closer. "It is not can—it is benign," he whispered hoarsely.

"Unless I have the biopsy," she said, "then we might find that it is cancer, and I would face that surgery."

"_We_ would face that surgery," he said firmly, "I couldn't take the pain for you, but I would be with you. You wouldn't need to do a thing."

"You couldn't do my work and yours too," she scoffed.

"No, I couldn't," he agreed and leaned back so that she could read the meaning in his eyes.

Her mouth went dry at the thought. It was one thing to know that he cared for her, but to think that he cared for her like _that_.

"You would leave Downton?" she whispered.

"I would be on your side and at your side," he said, and then his mouth quirked in a half smile, "The vows say 'in sickness and health'. We would just have the sickness part at the beginning."

"I still don't know if I want the biopsy. For now, I don't have cancer. If we decide to do the biopsy, we might find that I do."

"Elsie. If it is—if it is not benign, then it is not. The biopsy will only let us know for certain. Think of how you feel now. Will you ever be able to rest easy until you know it is not ca—dangerous?"

She knew he wanted her to have the biopsy, and she probably would for the very reason that he gave. If she didn't, then she would feel compelled every night to check for changes. Tonight, though, she wanted to concentrate on other things, but first she needed one answer from him. "Why will you not say it?"

"Say what? I have no idea what you mean," he asked as innocently as he could manage.

"Horrid liar," she scoffed, "Cancer."

"Because," he began and then his eyebrows furrowed, "I don't know. I don't want to even think of that associated with you, just like I don't want that lump inside you anymore. I want it gone and destroyed and as far away from you that we can possibly get it."

She nodded. Although his explanation was terribly confused, she thought she could understand it. Leaning back into his embrace, she allowed him to hold her. She needed his support, and he needed to give it. Her head rested on his chest, and she was lulled to drowsiness by the steady beat of his heart until he shook her gently and guided her to the settee. When they had settled down with his arm around her and her ear pressed to his chest again, mischievousness took hold and she asked, "Are you going to take me to bed now?"

"You, woman, are a minx," he said gruffly, "I will not. Not until I have that right, but I will sit here with you for as long as you wish."

She yawned, drowsy again, "Very well; if that is all that you will do. You need to obtain that right soon, though."

"I will speak to the vicar tomorrow, but it would still be nearly three weeks. Unless…," he trailed off.

"Unless?"

He hesitated and his shoulder shifted slightly. Her suspicions were instantly aroused. "It just occurred to me that if you allowed me to speak to her Ladyship, she might help to persuade Mr. Travis to help us with a special license."

"This thought just occurred to you?" she asked flatly.

"Yes," he said too quickly and his shoulder shifted again, "Well, perhaps I might have thought about it for a little while."

"A little while?"

"I might have stayed awake a little last night trying to think of a way," his shoulders shifted one last time.

"How long?"

He paused long enough that she was ready to insist he answer before he sighed and said, "All night."

"Dear, sweet man," she said and lifted her head from his chest to kiss his cheek, "We'll speak to her ladyship."

"You don't mind?" he asked, surprised.

"She will know soon enough if I have this biopsy, and I want to waste no more time than you apparently do," she said firmly, settling back down against his chest and closing her eyes.

She heard him murmur as she drifted off to sleep, "You have every right to insist."

_**Reviews are welcome as always**_


	5. Making plans

_**Sorry it has been so long between updates. There have been so many other lovely C/E fics that I have been distracted.**_

_**Disclaimer: If I owned them would I be doing this for free? I earn nothing but pleasure from writing and intend no harm to these lovely characters.**_

Cora was curious. A few days ago Mr. Carson had approached her and asked that some of Mrs. Hughes's duties be shifted to him, an odd request but one that she hadn't minded granting. After that request, she had taken the opportunity to let her capable housekeeper know that she would not have to worry about her future whether she was ill or not. That promise had not been made lightly. No matter their personal financial circumstances, taking care of one's people was a responsibility that she would not shirk. Today, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had asked for the opportunity to speak to her. She had her suspicions as to the reason but would keep them to herself and listen quietly.

Carson held the door for Mrs. Hughes and stepped through after her. Cora watched and couldn't help letting her eyes drift down to Mrs. Hughes left hand which was still bare. Perhaps her suspicions weren't correct after all. Then Carson glanced at Mrs. Hughes briefly, and her hand lifted to touch a small brooch on the left side of her chest. She had been right. Now she just needed to let them tell her in their own time. With Carson's love of the dramatic it would likely take ages, but she thought she might enjoy this show.

"Milady," he began, "You know that Mrs. Hughes has not been well."

Mrs. Hughes cleared her throat and glared at him from the corner of her eye. Cora was secretly delighted. This was going to be a lovely show.

"I would not quite go that far Mr. Carson," the housekeeper said crisply.

He drew a deep breath and ground his teeth, "Very well, there have been some concerns about Mrs. Hughes's health." After this statement, he lifted his eyebrows at Mrs. Hughes to see if she was satisfied, and Cora took pity on him.

"Yes, Mr. Carson," she smiled gently, "I do know that. Did Dr. Clarkson have your news yesterday Mrs. Hughes?"

"Yes, Milady," she answered somewhat over-brightly, "Good news." Cora thought she heard a growl from Carson's direction, and Mrs. Hughes closed her eyes briefly before continuing, "At least I thought it was good news. There is a cyst in my…Well, I have a cyst and the fluid that he removed was benign."

Carson shifted slightly, and it was then that she noticed how close he was standing to Mrs. Hughes. He was to the side and slightly behind her, almost touching; another confirmation of her suspicions.

"That is not quite all, milady," he said gravely, meeting Mrs. Hughes sideways glance steadily, "Dr. Clarkson is still not completely sure that she is well."

If Cora hadn't been paying particular attention, she would have missed the slight catch in Carson's voice and rushing of the last few words. He was worried, and that worried her. Still, this conversation could drag on forever if she didn't hurry things a bit.

"Mr. Carson," she said, "I'm not entirely sure why you are here. This conversation would seem to be more suited to be between Mrs. Hughes and myself."

Carson's eyes went wide as saucers and his mouth dropped open, but before he could speak, Mrs. Hughes stepped in, "Mr. Carson has asked that I marry him and I have accepted. He has every right to be here."

Cora was surprised. She hadn't thought it would be that easy, but then her housekeeper had always been forthright and direct. "I see. I take it that you are here to ask my permission?"

"No, milady," Carson began forcefully, but then moderated his tones, "That is, we certainly could understand your not wanting us to continue working here as a married couple, but we are determined on our path."

He glanced at Mrs. Hughes again and faltered when he met her eyes. Mrs. Hughes then picked up the thread of the conversation, "We have come to ask a favor of you, milady."

"A favor? I suppose you'd like to have some time away after the wedding."

Carson answered the question although it was directed at Mrs. Hughes, "No, that is, we would very much appreciate a bit of time to ourselves." Mrs. Hughes nodded at him approvingly before he continued, "But Mrs. Hughes's condition," he grimaced as he said the word, "necessitates some haste."

"Ahhhh, I see," Cora said as understanding dawned, "You would like someone to intercede on your behalf to avoid the banns so that you may be married sooner."

Mrs. Hughes smiled, "Yes, milady."

Cora couldn't help satisfying her curiosity, "I'm afraid I don't completely understand. Why don't you go ahead with the procedure to ensure that all is well and then be married? I would think you'd rather have all this behind you before beginning a new life."

Carson's eyebrows had climbed imperceptivity higher as she spoke and he answered with the faintest hint of alarm, "Milady, I'm afraid that wouldn't do. In order for me to care for Mrs. Hughes properly, I would need to be her husband. Her condition would require…"

Cora supposed her confusion must have shown because Mrs. Hughes broke in with a note of resignation in her voice, "The cyst is in my breast, milady. That is what Mr. Carson is too delicate to tell you."

Cora was again surprised and even more worried. Lady Alscroft had a lump in her breast and the surgery had been horrifying. Even in her consternation, she saw Carson's eyebrows draw together and his frown deepen as his eyes darted briefly down to Mrs. Hughes's chest. Cora realized that he knew exactly where the cyst was. The thought even flitted through her mind that he might have actually found it, but she dismissed that image just as quickly.

"In that case," Cora said gravely, "I will do all I can to ensure a speedy marriage. However, my mother-in-law is perhaps better suited to that task. She does an excellent job of bullying when it is necessary. If you don't mind I will enlist her aid."

They spoke in relieved unison, "Thank you, milady."

"Carson, please have the car ready, and I will call on Lady Grantham this afternoon. Mrs. Hughes, will you please inform O'Brien that she is needed."

Carson nodded, "Of course, milady." Mrs. Hughes inclined her head as well, "Right away, milady."

They both turned and started for the door. Just before they reached it, Cora couldn't contain her next comment, "Mrs. Hughes." They both paused and turned to face her again. "I want you to know that the promise I made you yesterday still stands. You will always have a home with us, although it seems you have found your own nurse."

Mrs. Hughes gave her a genuine smile and glanced up almost shyly at Carson who was trying to appear grim, but she could detect the hint of a smile on his face as well.

Cora watched as the door shut behind the pair and smiled to herself. Robert owed her an apology. She had predicted this development for ages. She only regretted that something so unfortunate had brought it about.

_**Reviews are welcome as always, especially since I played with a different POV this time.**_


	6. Waiting

_**After ages between updates, I'm working hard (on this for a change). I've played with another point of view here and would love to hear if you think I did her justice.**_

_**Disclaimer: Don't own them. Wish I did. Earn nothing from them. Wish I did.**_

The Dowager Countess paused at the door to the hospital. A moment of anxiety passed over her at the thought of entering, but only a moment; she was Lady Grantham after all. While she had every right to be here in her role as co-chair of the hospital committee, her mission today was a surreptitious one. The object of her errand was sitting stiffly on bench that looked particularly hard with his bowler in his lap and staring straight ahead. She straightened her spine, took a deep breath and walked fully into the room.

It was a measure of Carson's distraction that he took a moment to register her entrance. When he did, he rose so quickly that he nearly dropped his hat.

"Milady, I apologize. I did not realize...," he began.

She cut his apology off with a wave of her hand, "I am merely here to check on the hospital in my role as chair of the committee. I take it that Mrs. Hu-, ahem, Carson is occupied at the moment."

"Yes," Carson grimaced, "she is, that is, Dr. Clarkson is performing the biopsy now." His eyes flitted briefly to the door he'd been guarding before returning to meet hers solemnly.

She took in the slight sag of his shoulders and the faint lines of worry around his eyes. The need to provide comfort overwhelmed her and she spoke quietly, "It will be well, Carson."

His eyes darted back to the door and the corners of his mouth drew down briefly before he agreed, "It will milady, even if it is not completely well."

She nodded, understanding his seeming contradiction completely. He had been present while she cared for her own Robert during his final illness, after all. "In any case, she has found an excellent nurse in you. I am sure."

Carson's eyes narrowed and he stiffened at her words, but he didn't speak. Under any other circumstances, she would have allowed him to remain silent, but that would not have accomplished her goal. "You don't look forward to your role as Florence Nightengale?"

He grimaced. "It is not that milady. I will, of course, care for my wife, but I hope that..."

"Carson," she cut him off when he paused, "you don't have to explain anything to me. I think what you have done is commendable. Not many men would go so far for a colleague."

His back straightened a bit more and his chin jutted forward almost defiantly, "I did not marry Mrs. Carson solely to be her nurse."

She lifted her eyebrows at him, surprised not at his words but at his tone, "Well, I am certain that once you are past all this she will make an excellent companion."

A muscle in his cheek twitched, and his eyes narrowed, "There is no doubt about that, milady, but companionship alone would be a poor basis for a marriage."

"I disagree, Carson," she said, noticing with satisfaction that his eyes had not drifted back to the door once during their exchange, "I believe that companionship could be the very best basis for a happy union."

The muscle twitched again and his eyebrows lifted. Inclining his head slightly toward her, he said, "Perhaps milady, but it is best if there is something more." He was obviously trying to placate her without ceding his point.

"I believe that you are growing romantic Carson," she said lightly, "Perhaps you should have been a poet."

"Hardly milady," he scoffed, and his eyes started to drift toward the door again. She coughed to regain his attention.

"You do not have to agree with me on every point, Carson," she said once he was focused on her again. "You have every right to be wrong."

The muscle in his cheek twitched twice, and he blinked slowly but remained silent. Good, he was obviously angry now.

"But you do not believe that you are wrong," she said carefully.

His lips tightened for a moment before he spoke in a carefully modulated voice, "In this case, milady, I believe that I am not."

"At least you concede that it is only in this case, Carson," she said archly.

His eyebrow lifted and his next words were spoken softly, "It is because in this case I have special knowledge."

"Oh, how intriguing! You make it sound like an exciting mystery," she needled him just a bit more.

There was no time for the muscle in his jaw to twitch this time. The words were obviously out of his mouth before he realized that he was saying them out loud and loudly. "There is hardly any mystery in how I feel about my wife."

"And how would that be?" she couldn't help herself from asking.

He blanched, obviously concerned about his outburst, but to his credit he answered her question with only the slightest hesitation, "I care for Mrs. Carson very much. I would even say that I cannot bear the thought..."

She cut him off. Curious as she was, she would not embarrass him. "There is no need to say more. I well remember what it is to wait outside a door for news, as I am sure that you can recall."

Her thoughts drifted back to her own dear husband's final illness. Carson had been a constant for her at that time. Between Mrs. Dunmore and him, there had never been any need to worry about the running of the house. She had been able to concentrate all her attention on caring for and serving the man she had spent the better part of her life with. A depth of gratitude was owed to the man standing before her now that she hoped that she had just repaid in part.

His eyes flitted back to the door again, but this time it opened to reveal a nurse in a crisp uniform. He started toward the nurse to hear her news but paused with a quick glance at her. Over twenty years of training made it impossible for him to disengage from her without permission.

"Go," she said, "I must see to the reason for my visit."

She started toward the main offices, and he was at the nurse's side an instant later, leaning toward her as he heard her news. The expression of overwhelming relief on his face revealed the outcome of the surgery. The nurse moved to lead him through the door and presumably to the woman he 'cared deeply for.' He paused, however, and turned back to face her.

"Thank you milady," he said, a smile softening his grim features.

"Whatever for?" she asked in mock surprise.

"For distracting me," he answered, "I see what you were about."

"I have no idea what you mean," she answered as innocently as she could manage and turned away once more toward the offices. After a moment, she heard his steps as he walked through the doorway. She smiled to herself. They would do very well together indeed. Companionship was a good basis for a marriage, but love was the very best basis. It was obvious that her old butler had found his love and would not let her go without a hard fought battle.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	7. Changes

_**Another chapter from a different POV. Many thanks to Batwings who took a break from her own writing to give me suggestions to clarify things. Thank you for your reviews to let me know whether I stay in character or not. I'm enjoying playing with these different perspectives.**_

_**Disclaimer: Don't own them or receive any compensation from writing about them.**_

Isobel glanced down at the watch pinned to her apron. He would be here in five minutes. That much was a certainty. With a rueful smile, she thought she might do better to set her watch by his arrival instead of checking his arrival by her watch. She wished some of the probationers she had trained over the years were as punctual.

Mr. Carson had watched his wife's dressing being changed on the first day following surgery and then insisted that since he would be the one with this duty when she returned home that he should do all future dressing changes. After that he had arrived punctually at 2:15pm every day to perform that task.

Moving to Mrs. Carson's bedside, she offered to help her out of bed which Mrs. Carson accepted gratefully. She knew what to expect as well. As Isobel helped her up and into her robe, Mrs. Carson spoke softly, "Mrs. Crawley, I must tell you how much Mr. Carson and I appreciate your attentions. We know that this is not your usual position."

She brushed off the gratitude with a slight shake of her head, "It is nice to be a bit more hands on every once in a while. I'm surprised that it all came back to me so easily." As a favor to her cousins, she had volunteered to work at the hospital for the week that would be necessary to start their much appreciated housekeeper on her way to recovery.

Mrs. Carson smiled at her in agreement, "I believe I understand what you mean. It's been ages since I made a bed but it seems like yesterday that I could make ten in a morning." She paused for a moment before continuing in a quieter voice, "Thank you for the medication as well. It troubles him to see me in pain, and I'm afraid I find it difficult to hide when he's changing the dressing."

Isobel nodded. That much was obvious; the image of the staid butler's white face when she had first shown him how to change the dressing and pack the wound was still fresh in her mind. When he'd seen the pain in his wife's eyes, his hand had instantly found hers to squeeze it reassuringly. That touching gesture had earned him a sharp rebuke. While Isobel appreciated his need to comfort his wife, it was even more important that the wound be kept clean. Infection was their worst enemy now. It would be of no use to have a successful surgery and lose the patient to complications. To his credit, she'd only had to tell him once, and he carefully kept his hands fixed on the wound now. In an effort to reduce her patient's discomfort, she now ensured that she had a dose of medication prior to the butler's visits. The stubborn woman refused to take medication at any other time. Isobel thought she and the butler were certainly well matched in that regard.

She had just run the brush through Mrs. Carson's hair when the butler arrived on the ward. As he had done every day for the past three days, he nodded in her direction, hung his hat and overcoat beside the door and then walked over to greet his wife, laying the book that he always brought on her bedside table. After a few moments of conversation, he held his arm out to her and offered to take her on a short walk. Isobel smiled to herself. He always made it sound as though he was going to take her on a stroll in the gardens rather than exactly two and one half turns around the hospital ward.

As they walked, Isobel laid out the necessary items for the dressing change on a metal table she'd brought over for that purpose. She could hear snippets of conversation as they passed.

"I hate this dratted braid."

"I prefer your hair down, but you always look lovely."

"Lady Sybil is here and safe, thank God."

"Every man makes mistakes, Charles. You should walk a mile in his shoes."

"…no man should abandon his wife."

When she had finished laying out the items for the dressing change, she drew the curtains on the two sides of the bed. That was the signal for them to finish their walk and come back so that Mr. Carson could accomplish his task. She watched as he took her robe from her as formally as though it were the coat of the finest lady arriving at a dinner party. He carefully hung it on the hook by her bed while she lay down. Isobel drew the curtains at the foot of the bed but remained just inside so that she could observe the wound and Mr. Carson's technique, although she knew it would be flawless. As he rolled up his sleeves, his wife turned down the sheet and unlaced the top of her nightgown to reveal the neat dressing underneath. Isobel smiled when she saw Carson glance around quickly to ensure himself that the curtains were drawn tight around the sides of the bed. Only he would be anxious for his wife's modesty on a women's ward nearly devoid of patients at the moment.

Isobel drew close so that she could observe the wound when he removed the old dressing. She nodded approvingly, "Looking much better, almost no drainage at all. It's up to Dr. Clarkson, of course, but I see no reason why you could not go home tomorrow."

They spoke nearly in unison, "I would enjoy that very much indeed." "Very good news"

After sharing a warm smile with his wife, Carson moved to wash his hands carefully. Then Isobel watched with approval while he poured carbolic acid over them and shook them to remove the excess. She moved as far away from her charge's bed as possible while still remaining within the confines of the curtains. She regretted that she could not leave them entirely alone, but it was her duty to see that this was done properly. After his first anxious day, Carson had taken to murmuring softly while he cleaned and dressed the wound in an apparent effort to distract his wife's attention. He sat down on the edge of her bed with his thigh pressed against hers and drew the table with the bandages close.

Despite her attempt to give them privacy, Isobel could still pick up on snatches of their quiet conversation.

"It will be good to have you where you belong."

"In your bed?"

"Minx. Yes, you do belong there now, don't you?"

She gasped.

"I'm sorry, love, but it has to be very clean."

Mrs. Carson gave her worried husband a tight smile, "Perhaps I was gasping at the thought of being in your bed. Go on. It's a small bed. Will we both fit?""

He rolled his eyes at her but continued.

"I shall hold you tight so that you won't fall out."

"Such a sacrifice for you, Mr. Carson."

"Not as much as you might think, Mrs. Carson. I might, perhaps have a slightly larger bed now."

"Why you?"

"After much discussion, Lady Grantham, the Dowager Lady Grantham, and Lady Mary thought it inappropriate that I be on the ladies' side of the hall. I suppose I might threaten their virtue."

"They don't think I am a threat then?"

"To me or to the lads?"

"Oh!"

"I'm sorry dear. It's the packing. Does it hurt very much?"

"Not very much. Go on with it."

"I can't hold your hand, but perhaps you should squeeze my knee when it hurts."

"That's a likely line, Charles Carson. You'd do anything to get me to touch you."

"That I would, dear. You have seen right through me."

"It's lucky for you that I don't mind touching you at all."

"None of that for now. You need your rest."

"Never let it be said that I passed up a chance."

"Never, but I'll not risk your health for a few moments' pleasure."

"I'd not risk it for a few moments either, but surely you could offer more than that."

"Elsie!"

"Charles!"

"There. Finished. Did it hurt very much?"

"Not very much," Mrs. Carson lied unashamedly to her husband. "Will you do up the laces?"

"Only if you assure me that my virtue is safe," he answered gruffly while he drew the front of her gown together and tightened the laces. "Would you like another chapter today?"

"Please," she answered, settling back on the bed. "Nurse Crawley," she indicated Isobel with a nod of her head,"insists that I rest after you change the dressing, and I'll not get to sleep any other way."

Carson grumbled under his breath, "I don't know that I should be flattered that my voice puts you to sleep."

Isobel left the curtains closed on the sides of the bed, but pulled back the one at the foot. She discarded the dirty dressing and moved away to give the couple a bit more privacy. Carson picked up the book that he'd brought and took his wife's hand. He read for several minutes until he looked up and saw that she'd already dosed off. Isobel watched him sit quietly watching his wife for another few moments before he sighed and extricated his hand so that he could rise. While he rolled his sleeves down and pulled his coat on, he looked down at the sleeping woman with his eyebrows drawn tightly together. Bending over her, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before straightening and striding over to where Isobel was standing and trying not to watch.

"Mrs. Crawley, might I have a word with you?" he asked, just as he'd asked every one of the past four days. She wondered what he would do if she said no. Would it throw him so off balance that he would be left dumbstruck? But instead she said the same thing she always said, "Of course, Mr. Carson. How may I help you?"

"I just wanted to thank you again for taking care of Mrs. Carson so well," he said gravely, "I know that you are doing this as a favor for the family, but we do appreciate it."

"As I told Mrs. Carson when she said the same, I am happy to be of some help. It is good to feel useful," she said brightly.

He nodded, obviously wanting to bring up other topics but hesitant. "Have you spoken with Dr. Clarkson today?"

"I have," she said, "but if you are asking whether he has any news from the specialist, I am afraid he does not."

"Why does it take so long?" he almost growled in frustration, "I could have taken it to Glasgow myself and waited for the answer by now. Can they not just look at it and give us a final answer?"

"Dr. Clarkson seemed sure that everything was clear," she reassured him, "Surely you want the specialist to be certain of his diagnosis?"

"Yes, of course," he answered, "I just hoped to know before we went home. You really feel that she is ready?" He watched her steadily.

"Yes, I do," she nodded without any hesitation, "And you will do very well taking care of her. I have no doubt she would likely sleep better in her own bed."

"Of course," his cheeks tinted faintly and when she remembered the conversation he'd had while changing the dressing her cheeks heated as well.

"You are making sure that she takes medication for the pain before I change the bandage, aren't you?" he asked anxiously. "She doesn't want me to know how much it hurts, but I can see that it is terribly painful."

"I am," she answered, glad for attention to be turned away from the Carsons' marriage bed. "It is the only time she will agree to take it, however."

"Stubborn woman," he said almost under his breath as he glanced back at the bed.

"Then she is likely a good match for you Mr. Carson," Isobel answered, feeling the need to defend her patient.

If she didn't know Carson better, she would have been sure his lip quirked up into a half smile, "She is. Good day, Mrs. Crawley. I will call again tomorrow to fetch my wife."

"I have no doubt she will be waiting to be fetched," Isobel returned the smile she thought she'd seen.

As she watched him leave, she thought that if she didn't know better she would think the couple had been married for a dozen years instead of just over a dozen days. Unfortunately, tragedy could sometimes bring feelings into sharp focus, and it had obviously done so for them. She heartily wished them the years together that they deserved.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	8. Epilogue

_**The last installment of this little fic. Thank you for indulging my AU. **_

**1922**

Elsie woke again to a cold, empty bed. Today of all days she wished that it was different. Sighing, she rose carefully, mindful of the catch in her right shoulder. Perhaps something could be done about that later today. A blast of wind drove rain against the window, and she decided that the best course of action today would be to get a quick cup of tea and return to bed. If only the rest of the world would cooperate with her plan.

Standing, she pulled her robe tight around her and shuffled into her slippers. No need to get dressed in her own home. Not yet. She made her way slowly down the stairs and as she reached the bottom she heard the sounds of low singing from within. Her first smile of the day graced her lips as she stood in the doorway. She had the pleasant view of her husband bent over studying the dial on her toaster while he sang to himself. He jumped when she spoke.

"Tuesday or no, there'll not be any 'hanging of the linen' today," she said, "Have you seen the weather outside?"

He turned to greet her, "If you mean the driving rain and icy cold, then yes I have dear wife. What are you about scaring me half to death?"

"What are you about trying to destroy my toaster?" she returned, "I know you don't care for it, but I never thought you'd send it to an early grave."

He rolled his eyes at her and turned back to the toaster, "I'm trying to make breakfast for you. I've already made mine." He indicated the dark brown bricks of toast on the tray. "Now I'm trying to figure out how to turn the dial to make the bread that you like."

"It's a toaster, Charles," she said, stepping in front of him and bending over to look at the dial, pressing her bottom into his groin. She smiled as she was rewarded with his low groan and his hand on her waist, "It makes toast not bread."

He watched over her shoulder, breath teasing the hairs on the back of her neck, as she turned the dial down and then he slipped two pieces of bread into the slots for her. Grabbing her waist with both hands now, he turned her in his arms and kissed her soundly before saying, "For bread to become toast, it must be at least a little brown on both sides. What you prefer, my dear, is known as bread; warm bread to be sure but bread."

The toaster finished her lightly toasted bread before she could retort and she withdrew it to place it on the tray he'd already laid out.

"Were you planning on breakfast in bed then?" she asked, examining the tray with its pot of tea, cups, marmalade and toast.

"I was," he sighed, "but since you spoiled my surprise, I suppose we could eat down here and then return to bed."

"And why would we return to bed now that we're up?" she asked innocently, lifting the tray to carry it to their kitchen table.

He took the tray from her and answered just as innocently, "Well, as you've pointed out, the weather is horrible. I can't think of anything better to do today than stay in bed to sleep."

She paused in the act of sitting down to look at him in disbelief, "To sleep?"

"What else would we do in bed all day?" he asked with a smug smile before popping a slice of toast in his mouth.

She sat down and prepared her tea. Frustrating man. He was going to make this difficult. Two could play that game. She took her time cutting her toast into neat, even slices. Picking up one, she put just a little marmalade on it and chewed it slowly and thoughtfully. Charles had leaned back in his chair, but she could see that he was growing more impatient.

When it looked like he was ready to burst, she leaned toward him and said, "I had hoped that we might celebrate today." While she spoke, she slipped her foot out of her slipper and ran it lightly up the back of his calf.

He let out a low growl, dropped his toast, and leaned forward to meet her lips brushing over them with her tongue and teasing them apart. Pulling back with a low chuckle, he said, "You taste like oranges. Celebrate what love?"

"Oh I don't know," she answered, shifting closer to him in her chair and working lose the tie on his robe, "Perhaps the fact that this is the first day of many that my husband will stay here instead of working at the big house all day."

"Ahhh," he said, shifting closer himself and working on the laces on the front of her nightdress, "And here I thought you might be angry that I was invading your free time."

"You are welcome to invade, Mr. Carson," she whispered, fingers already reaching for the buttons of his pyjama shirt.

He pushed the material of her nightdress out of the way and leaned down to nuzzle her breast. After a moment he pulled back to look in her eyes while his fingers traced the shiny scar on the top of her breast, "There's something else to celebrate today as well. Two full years since we have known that you were well."

She smiled and caught his hand, pressing it to her breast, "Would you be shocked to find out that I'm grateful for that lump?"

"I would," he said firmly, "There was nothing good about that."

She traced the ring on his finger with her thumb, "Was there not?"

"I was a foolish man to wait for that," he said hoarsely, looking down at their joined hands.

She nodded, "Perhaps we both were foolish. We can spend the rest of our lives apologizing."

"Beginning now," he agreed and stood to his feet, pulling her with him.

_**Reviews are welcome as always**_


End file.
